Sunday, November 30, 2008

I've been having to force antibiotics down Bea's throat since she came home from the vet. Because Bea always has one malady or another I've become quite the pro: Squeeze jaw apart at hinges, shove pill to back of throat, close mouth and massage neck. Pretty simple, right? Wrong!!! I seem to have lost my kavorka, because in the past 4 days I've had my thumb bitten so hard it ached into my elbow, I've been seriously puked on, and I've also had my pillow and my side of the bed puked on. Now I know that the Clavamox decreases her appetite and makes her nauseous. But seriously. I was holding her and trying to get the pill down her and she bit the shit out of me. So while I'm yelping in pain and John's chanting: "Don't be mad at her, don't be mad at her.", she starts shaking like she's having a seizure and then blech. Friskies ocean white fish. John laughed, but only for about 2 seconds because I burst into tears. That's right. I bawled like a baby. Sobbing and snotting and wailing. It was just all too much. So John had to take her out of my arms and then pull my sweatshirt off and help wash puke out of my hair and then bring an alcohol pad for my wounded thumb. And I have never felt so helpless in my entire life. Then a few hours ago she blew chunks of turkey all over my relatively new Tony Little micro bead pillow and all down the side of the bed. I'd feel sorry for her, only she seems a little too self satisfied and my thumb still hurts.
I keep having to tell myself that it's Sunday because this whole not working thing tends to screw with the calender. It's also sleeting and snowing. (!) There's a layer of slush on the roof and the driveway.

Last night I finally finished "The Likeness". Criminey crow. The last 30 pages were sheer agony. I enjoyed so many aspects of it. The characters and the interaction and setting were all top notch. The story line blew.

Friday, November 28, 2008

Mama told me yesterday that they ate Thanksgiving dinner at the Golden Corral. Then she said as everyone was getting ready to leave, Daddy went to the bathroom and was gone so long that she forgot and left without him. She said, "I was about to leave your daddy at the restaurant." Then she tells me that she pulled out of the parking lot and Sarah and John had to flag her down and ask her who was supposed to be bringing daddy home. Uh-huh, "about". She gets back to the Golden Corral and Daddy's still in the bathroom. He's fine, but I wouldn't have wanted to be the guy in the next stall. So I asked him, "When do you think she would have remembered you Daddy?" And he said, "Aw, probably 'bout Tuesday or so."
Yesterday was way fun even though I didn't get to have beer or wine. Holidays at Mike and Judy's are the only time I ever imbibe, you know, to feel part of the social scene, and this year I was holding hands with my new friend vico-profen so I could only make kissy faces at Sam Adams from across the dinner table. At any rate, the food was excellent and the company was fun and we had a grand time.

This is what I've learned so far about being physically impaired: Yesterday I went with John to Stop and Shop because there were a few things I wanted to make sure we had in the house. I rode around the store in one of those complimentary scooters. It was like being invisible. 8 out of 10 people completely ignored me. Walked in front of me and cut me off and all kinds of rudeness. Now at first I thought it was a Yankee thing. And I've lived here long enough that I'm more than willing just to chalk it up to poor up-bringing and cold weather. Daddy has to use a scooter or a walker to go any distance over 10 feet so I called him to bitch. He said people are idiots down there too. How discouraging.

Thursday, November 27, 2008

John painted 4 of my exposed toes last night so that they would match my pants. Lovely man.
Maybe it's the drugs talking, but at this particular moment I am totally psyched about the holidays. Sitting here waiting on John to get out of the shower, listening to Holiday Pops on XM and calculating how much sweet potatoes I can eat before making myself sick, prob'ly not a whole lot seeing as how I feel nauseous all the time. Tonight I'm going to make a green bean casserole and sausage stuffing.

Happy Thanksgiving

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Rooted in sand and red dirt. Bobby and Carolyn.

Happy Thanksgiving every one! I am home from the hospital, minus one bunion and a couple bone spurs. On the whole it wasn't a terribly unpleasant experience. John picked Bea up from the vet and she's doing very well. The bill was way less than we had anticipated, like a third less than it probably should have been. Dr. Norris will be the recipient of a treat and goodie bag very soon. Hell, I may as well bake since I'll need to keep myself occupied for the next couple of weeks. My foot's numb still, so I already hobbled around and made a chocolate pecan pie for tomorrow.

Things for which I am thankful: Mama and Daddy. Because no matter who you are, as long as you're respectful you are welcomed and loved in their home. Because they blow all those Southern stereotypes right out of the pond and they make me proud.
And for John. Because he's big and lovely and makes me laugh so hard I cry. Because he loves me like my daddy loves my mama.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

So John took Bea to the vet this morning and they had to sedate her and clean her teeth and pull one of them. Poor little old granny cat. We called to see if we could pick her up and they said she's still too groggy and because of her age and her history of seizures, they decided to keep her over night. Now I'm all at sea. This house is not a home without a Bea-cat. What to do? And of course, tomorrow is foot choppin' time. I'd be a liar, liar, pants on fire if I said I wasn't nervous. I haven't been anesthetized since I had my breast reduction 12 years ago. Unless you count that Christmas I got pissed off at a certain someone who shall remain nameless, drank an entire bottle of wine in about an hour and passed out in the hallway. That'll learn 'em. But no. What is it about being put under? It's probably safer than just going to sleep. You got all those people monitoring you and you're hooked up to all those machines, what's the big deal? Who am I trying to convince? I think I'm more nervous about having to go the whole day with no coffee and then coming home with my bloody foot wrapped up like a canned ham. And if those jokers at that hospital think they're gonna send me home with some extra strength Tylenol or some such happy horseshit I'm gonna go 3 kinds of redneck on their asses.

What I'm reading: "The Likeness" by Tana French. Finally got far enough into that I'm deriving some pleasure.

Finished reading: "This Body" by Laurel Doud. Totally interesting. Middle aged woman with kids and a husband dies in her sleep and wakes up in the body of a 22 year old wild child who has just o.d'ed.

Finished reading: "Keeping you a Secret" by Julie Ann Peters. YA book about an overachieving all-american high school girl who falls in love with the openly gay new girl at school. Damn book broke my heart.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

Usually I can't get to sleep before 11pm. But this week I've been drooling on my pillow before 10 every night. Maybe it's the Cymbalta. This of course means I'm up every morning at 5am. Doesn't suck so much as it freaks me out.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

How cold is it? Nasty cold. Maybe if we'd eased into it I'd be feeling a little better about it. But last weekend it was 60 and now it's 20 and all of my extremities are either numb or leaking. So far this week I've had to call 2 insurance companies about my short-term disability pay out. Then I saw my doctor, who EKGed me and then I had blood drawn at the hospital lab and now I have to go for a stress test on Monday. All this for a got-dang toe. A TOE here people! If I knew I wouldn't wharf my guts out I'd down a fifth of jose cuervo and do it my own damn self. Duct tape a towel to my foot and not leave the bedroom for 3 weeks.

And you know what else? It's gonna suck not having a Thanksgiving dinner. But I'm supposed to be completely off that foot for a few days afterward. This will have to be improved upon.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Vera Pauline Cauley Kelley Wright age 16 circa 1940

Today I thought about things like: What if I lived in New Orleans? Or Savannah? Or Charleston? Or some other sultry Southern city where things were green for most of the year and the air smelled salty from the sea and the sun was warm, even in January. And I thought about how I hate wearing shoes, but I like wearing socks and I thought about how Sherry and I used to walk barefoot around Myrtle Beach and our feet would be black for the whole summer and then that made me think about my Uncle Willie who never ever wore shoes. He only owned one pair and he'd had that pair since 1968. And when he died, about ten years ago, his kids had "Shoeless Willie" engraved on his gravestone. And that made me think about my Grandmama and so I took a picture of a picture.

Sometimes I wanna clunk their heads together like the Three Stooges.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

It's windy and cold. It's soup and coffee weather, so I made soup and coffee. It's also only 5pm and already pitch black outside. It feels like time is sliding through my fingers. Yesterday I was 22 and flying by the seat of my pants. I don't necessarily miss it, just sort of nostalgic about it, or around it, or whatever. I used to go to concerts by myself (Tori Amos) and not give a shit because I knew I'd meet people and it was all good. I used to find myself bored at midnight and decide to hop in the car and drive an hour and half to Asheville and spend the rest of the morning smoking American Spirits and drinking Guinness with Natalie and April and whoever else happened to be around. I used to spend weekends with my sister Wendy, driving mountain roads, hiking waterfalls, sifting through the ruins of old houses and swilling Sun Drop.

I'm glad I was the one who did those sorts of things. But I'm sad for the rootless girl who never had a role to fill.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

It's 65 degrees here. Tropical and windy and rainy. Haven't left the yard.

That's about all I've got.

Friday, November 14, 2008

My foot surgery is scheduled the day before Thanksgiving. Goody. AND... there's a bone spur nestled in the knuckle of my toe. So double goody.

Last night I went 12 rounds with a 5 pound calico and got my ass owned. Nasty little beast bit my thumb and scratched me till I bled in 3 separate areas. I'll probably wind up with distemper. Or maybe kennel cough.

This has been such a hectic week. Mentally and physically exhausting. I've been trying not to over-tax my brain. Stopped reading "The Likeness" and started reading a Lisa Kleypas novel. Can't watch anything more engrossing than "That 70's Show".

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Nut-less wonders

Don't be fooled by the cute. There're only 2 of them and I've already had to clean the litter box 3 times. And one of them broke my made-in-occupied-Japan tea cup. The one I bought for 50cents at the Salvation Army. ARGH!

Ya'll, that's 7 toes.

This is what I do to anesthetized cats. I exploit their abnormalities.

Monday, November 10, 2008

There are 4 cats somewhere in this trailer and in the past 2 hours I've seen nary a one. I hear them though. Warm gentle purrs from various corners. And Bea is sequestered in the bedroom... probably sprouting thumbs as I type, so as to better grip the knife she'll use when she stabs me to death in my sleep. Bea hates cats.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

This morning I let Mae back outside. It's sunny and 55 degrees and he's been de-wormed, and de-flead and is recovering well. What did I do before I became host to this party of parasitical felines? Read and bitched and planned vacations. Now I've decided to stop vacating for a while.

Here's a little something odd, that has nothing to do with c-a-t's. For the past couple of months I've been having dreams that are slightly prophetic. Not dead on exact and no end of days stuff. But small thangs. Dreaming of losing a tooth and finding out that my sister actually lost the same tooth within a day of the dream. Dreaming of a funeral at my landlord's house and finding out that his cousin had just died. That sort of thing.

I've been busy with doctors and vets and all that adult shite. I've probably read 5 pages of "The Likeness" in the past week. Which sucks cause I really like it. Today I want to clean a little and relax a lot.

Friday, November 7, 2008

All I have to say is he's really furry and black and I could never get very close to him anyway. That's my excuse for thinking that Mae was a girl. Mae ain't Mae. Come to find out, Mae's a Moe. This we discovered a few hours ago when we picked her up from the vet and discovered that she was a he. Whatever, because he's neutered and that's all I care about. Tuesday we have Lenny and Ernest chopped and then Thursday Agnes, Hootie and Tango. So by this time next week they'll all be done. Don't ask me how I'm gonna handle all this. Convalescing kitties every where. Sore little nether regions and pitiful me-yowls. Part of me feels very productive and useful. The other part wants to run away to the desert and live in a hut.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

a cat day afternoon

Okay. Here's the deal. Yesterday was not a good day for me. I had weaned myself off of Prozac over the course of a month and have been without it for a month and I've been on a downward spiral. Yesterday I crashed. I left work, made it to the parking lot, called my doctor and then had to have John pick me up. Why did I wean myself off of Prozac? Because I felt empty and soul-less. How do I describe what this feels like? Do I even need to? I am embarrassed by all of this. I don't want to talk about it. Mostly because I don't want anyone worrying about me or feeling badly for me. The world is too much and though I'm an organic part of it, well, so is everyone else. If I can deal with this on my own without having to involve a whole flock of family and friends then all the better.

That being said, I can sure write about it. I have been in the desperate throes of depression. Couple that with a few strategically placed anxiety attacks and you have yourself a case of the crazies. I jest. I'm not crazy. Just severely, cripplingly sad. To the point where I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. What does normal feel like? Because I'm pretty sure my brand of normal will be a tad different than the generic kind. I'm a left of center kind of gal. I find pleasure in it. What I don't find pleasure in is feeling completely worthless and stupid and overwhelmed and broken. And I'm sick of my little voice. The voice shrinks call your conscience or your inhibitions. Well my little voice won't shut the hell up. And it will inevitably lead me down the path of regret. And as John says, "The little fucker ALWAYS wins." It's like a screaming kid. You give in just to get them to be quiet for a little while. Only my little voice can't be appeased with a Happy Meal. Mines not happy until I'm weepy and terrified.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Went to work, went to the podiatrist, came home, made supper, made a lot of necessary phone calls. Ate supper and a brownie and an iced mocha latte which, by the way, isn't really part of the diet. Watched part of some gawd-awful Lindsay Lohan movie and then felt really dirty afterward. Like I needed a cigarette and a shower. Speaking of showers, our landlord had a new shower wall installed for us. Exciting.

The podiatrist is sending me to have x-rays and then I go back to see him next week and from there he'll be able to tell what sort of surgery he'll have to do and then how long I'll be out of work with this stupid, stupid foot of mine. In the beginning I was all, "Yay! No work and happy drugs!" Now reality is setting in and I'm beginning to worry about the whole financial aspect. Apparently, when one goes on a medical leave of absence, one has to wait an extra week before the money starts coming in. So I'm hoping they'll give me extra -or as my daddy says, "extrie"- gauze and all that jazz because I sure as hell won't be able to afford to buy it.

Which brings me to Beatrice... my witchey little old lady cat who has to go Thursday to have her teeth cleaned and possibly have a couple extracted. I'm already having heart palpitations anticipating how much that shit's gonna cost me. So long as it improves her health and -oh please God- her attitude, then it will definitely be worth it... unless it's over 300 bucks. If it's over 300 bucks I'm gonna slip on doggie pee-pee and sue the hell out of them.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Two more days

Saturday, November 1, 2008


I'm sure my blog followers -yeah, both of them- are sick of my cat pictures but geezum people... check out Ernest's toes. Some folks are afraid their cats are gonna scratch the furniture. We're afraid he's gonna open the door, steal the car keys and drive away. And I'm not absolutely certain but I believe that thumb may have 2 claws on it. Mee-Ow.

Me and Paulina Katherine. She's named after both of her maternal great-grandmothers and I am forever thankful for her because her birth not only got me out of school for the day but ALSO got me out of a Biology test that I hadn't studied for. She's beautiful and funny and so very good-hearted.